


A Soft Place to Land

by JackEPeace



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Bakery AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackEPeace/pseuds/JackEPeace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy dreams in ingredients. Her subconscious thoughts are sprinkled in sugar, kneaded with flour until they’re soft and pliable, doughy in her fingers. Her dreams smell like crust turning golden brown in the oven, tinted with the tang of fruit on the counter and bittersweet chocolate. (A bakery AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soft Place to Land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isloremipsumafterall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isloremipsumafterall/gifts).



> So this story is for the darling enkiindlethis for her birthday! She requested a bakery AU and this is sort of a strange hodgepodge of a bakery AU combined with my fascination of baking and listening to the soundtrack from the musical version of "Waitress" way too many times so I hope this is good enough! You are fantastic my friend and I hope you have an awesome birthday!

Daisy dreams in ingredients. Her subconscious thoughts are sprinkled in sugar, kneaded with flour until they're soft and pliable, doughy in her fingers. Her dreams smell like crust turning golden brown in the oven, tinted with the tang of fruit on the counter and bittersweet chocolate. Everything is Formica tabletops and the glow of the oven's coils as they begin to heat up. Butter, flour, sugar, chocolate, cream, sweet dough on her tongue…these are the things that fill her mind while she sleeps. And when she wakes, she holds onto the thoughts, the images, the smells, the taste of it all on her tongue. Her hands itch for the rolling pin, the knife, the dough beneath fingernails. Even as the rest of her body protests the early morning hours, the shrill sound of the alarm pulling her from sleep, urging her toward the bathroom to splash some water on her face and run a brush through her hair.

As she catches the bus to work, Daisy thinks about the pies from her dreams, those moments from her sleep that have inspired her for the day to come. Her boss used to tease her when she said that she thought of her creations in her sleep until he realized that she wasn't kidding. Now he just shakes his head, smirking as she gets to work in the kitchen, throwing it all together.

The sky is still early-morning gray when Daisy steps off the bus and goes around to the back of the little diner that provides her with just enough in tips to pay her rent and buy something other than diner food to eat. The sisters at St. Agnes used to tell her that she wouldn't amount to anything unless she went to school, got a good job, found someone to love and take care of her. Daisy thinks about making a special pie for them sometimes, a 'screw you, St Agnes' pie: bitter berry filling, dark chocolate drizzle, pale, crunchy crust. The thought brings a smile to her face as she waits for Coulson to unlock the door and let her into the kitchen.

Daisy doesn't bother to test out her latest creation, not right now. She knows that Coulson boasts of her abilities, giving her pie of the day the star spot on the special board he puts on the sidewalk outside the diner. She doesn't want to betray him by giving him a bitter creation to advertise. Instead, she falls back on the old favorites: meringue, cherry, pecan. And something new: an orange tart, vanilla drizzle, flaky crust. All the things she saw in her dreams the night before.

The kitchen smells sweet and heady before the first customer even steps through the door. Eventually, of course, the smells of grease and eggs and bacon and toast replace the sugary sweetness of her baking. Daisy washes dough and flour from her hands, pulling her hair into a ponytail and tying an apron around her waist. Bobbi is already out on the floor, smiling and refilling coffee cups, breezing into the back and telling her and Trip and Mack about her night in between filling orders.

Daisy picks up the coffee pot and her ordering pad and pushes through the swinging door. The diner is mostly empty, this early; Coulson is filling out the specials board and May is behind the counter, rolling silverware into paper napkins. Bobbi has two tables full in her section and Daisy has only one in hers. A single booth filled with a single person, not a regular, someone she's never seen before.

"Morning." Daisy says cheerfully as she steps over toward the booth. "Coffee?"

The girl looks up at her and her eyes are tired, frazzled. Her hair is twisted on top of her hair in a bun that's messy not because that seems to be the popular way to wear it but because it looks like she twisted the strands together and stuck them up there with a pencil because it was either that or cut it off to keep it out of her face. She looks tired in the genuine, well-earned way that only comes from people who work too hard because they think that's the only choice they have.

Clearly someone in need of coffee. But before Daisy can fill the mug on the table, the girl shakes her head. "No, thank you. Tea?" She says hopefully.

Daisy gives her a dubious look. "It's hot water and a Lipton bag."

The girl sighs, dejected. "Coffee then. That's fine." She seems to remember herself and smiles. "Sorry. I'm too tired to think."

The smile, the tired gleam in her eyes, the twisting curls, the weary set of her jaw…she's easily the most beautiful person to set foot in this diner in a long time. Daisy notices things like this, how can she not? Being a waitress is pretty much prime people watching time; she and Bobbi often make a habit out of guessing about the lives of the people who come through the door. Sometimes they can even get May to join in, with lots of sighs and eye-rolls, and she usually has them laughing hard enough to get stares from customers.

"No problem." Daisy assures her, filling the mug. The smell of the roasted coffee beans sparks something in her mind and she wonders…maybe for a pie filling… "Late night at work?"

The girl shakes her head. "Oh, no. I'm trying to get my doctorate and…things in the lab have not been going well."

Daisy quirks an eyebrow. "Your doctorate? You don't look old enough?" She hopes that the girl isn't offended by her comment.

But she just smiles again, like she's heard it all before. "I've never been patient when it came to academics." She replies. "You look quite young yourself. Working your way through school?"

"Not quite." Daisy tells her. "I've never been the school type."

"Oh! I didn't mean-"

Daisy shakes her head. "Don't worry about it." She assures the girl, who looks sweet and flustered.

"I'm Jemma." She says, as though that's the perfect olive branch to make up for her blunder. "Too tired to have manners, apparently."

"Daisy." She points the tag on her apron: her name written in Bobbi's hand with Mack's attempt at a flower drawn beside it. "Nice to meet you."

She says this in a way that surprises her, like she thinks there's going to be something more here, something more than just a 'do you need anything?', something more than a 'just the check, please' and a tip left on the table.

Jemma nods and her tired eyes look a little less tired. "So, Daisy, what do you recommend?"

Daisy thinks this question over. "Just a minute."

When she comes back with a slice of pie on a plate, Jemma looks at her dubiously. "Pie? For breakfast?"

"You don't look like you've actually been to sleep yet." Daisy points out, setting the plate on the table in front of her. "So technically it's not breakfast."

Jemma starts to protest and then stops, apparently unable to argue with this logic. "What kind is it?"

"The filling is an orange custard." Daisy explains and her mind sparks with the memory, the burst of color and flavor that brightened her dreams. "With a hint of vanilla and chocolate."

"I'm not sure I've ever had that before." Jemma says, picking up her fork.

Daisy shrugs. "I would hope not. I just invented it."

Jemma already has the bite of pie in her mouth and her expression is comical as it hovers between being surprised by Daisy's words and enamored by the taste of the pie itself. She closes her eyes and moans, the sound making Daisy smile and tingling her toes. Jemma's eyes snap open and she covers her mouth with her hand, embarrassed. "Oh. Sorry." She swallows. "But that is delicious. You made this?"

Daisy nods, pleased. "Baking is kind of my specialty."

"I can see why." Jemma nods, taking another bite. "This is delicious."

"Thanks." And even though this is not the first time that Daisy has heard these words before, it feels like it anyway, like promise and pride are blossoming in her chest for that very first time.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Daisy stands in the kitchen of the diner, her hands and fingers working quickly on the crust, the motions effortless and second nature. Her nose still tingles with the smell of the coffee as she poured it into Jemma's mug the morning before; the filling she makes is bitter and sharp, heavy and rich. Her mind still tingles with the memory of Jemma's smile, the sound of her voice as she said "I'll see you around"; she tempers the bitter filling with sweetness, the honey and lavender that seemed to twist itself into Jemma's messy hair.

Jemma doesn't come in that day and Daisy pretends like she isn't expecting her to.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next time that Jemma comes in, her appearance suggests that she's less frazzled and more put together but her eyes give her away. Her hair is brushed and falling down around her shoulders and the collar of her blouse is straight and pressed. But her eyes are exhausted and her shirt is buttoned all askew, like she tried fix it quickly but didn't realize that she'd still missed a button.

"Your project still isn't working out?" Daisy guesses and she doesn't bother to ask before she fills Jemma's coffee cup. "You look like you've been having a bad day."

"A bad day. A bad night." Jemma mutters in agreement. "A bad couple of days and nights, honestly. The specimens are just not producing the results that I think they should be and it's quite frustrating because without those results than I really have no substantial data for my dissertation but I know that my calculations are correct so I don't understand why I'm not getting results yet and I…sorry." Jemma winces, shaking her head. "Sometimes I forget that not everyone is actually interested in what I'm doing in the lab."

Daisy shrugs. "I'm interested. I might not understand most of it but I'm interested." That's stretching the truth a little bit. She's not really interested in labs or specimens or research but she is interested in the sound of Jemma's accent and the way she gestures with her hands while she talks and she's interested in the fact that Jemma is back in the diner and talking to her about things that are important to her. She's interested in the way that she recognizes Jemma's passion as the way that she feels when she steps into a kitchen and someone tells her to go for it.

Jemma gives her a smile, leaning back against the cracked vinyl of the booth. "You're sweet, Daisy." She says with a tired sort of sigh. "Honestly I just need a break."

Daisy manages not to smile. "So you thought you'd come here?"

Jemma looks sheepish, a reaction that Daisy doesn't quite understand. Unless, maybe… "Well," Jemma says, "the pie is quite delicious."

"I should have known you were only here for the pie." Daisy teases with a wink, spinning on her heel and throwing a comment about getting her a slice over her shoulder as she hurries away and back toward the kitchen before she can let herself be trapped by Jemma's reaction to her words.

She's always been the type to play things safe rather than sorry, mostly because she's spent a lot of time in her life being sorry. And she's only seen Jemma twice, which still resides within the mythical 'safe' zone that she's so desperate to keep herself in. Banter and 'see you agains' are still safe but tip-toeing toward the sorry line and there's a chance that Jemma might respond to her a comment in a way that pushes her firmly over that line and into sorry territory. So pie it is.

Daisy really thinks that pie makes everything better.

"The size of the piece of pie on that plate doesn't have anything to do with the cute girl at table three, does it?" Mack questions, not looking up from his rousing job of polishing glasses.

Daisy looks down at the plate in front of her. The piece is quite formidable now that she thinks about it. Today's special is dark chocolate filling with strawberry custard whipped inside and cane sugar sprinkled across the pale, flaky crust. Normally she and the other waitresses regulate the serving sizes better than this because each pie is one of a kind.

But still…is she supposed to just put it back?

"I don't know what you're talking about." Daisy says breezily, holding out her hand. Mack hands her a roll of silverware with a smirk on his face. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not looking at you like anything." Mack assures her gruffly. "Sounds like you're dealing with some guilt about your feelings and projecting them onto me and my expressions."

Daisy rolls her eyes at him. "Oh, sure. Dating a philosophy major, Mack?"

Mack puts aside the glass and reaches for another. "He's an engineer. And I read, thank you very much. Diner bus-boy is only my day job."

Daisy picks up the plate and the silverware, shaking her head. "Must be nice." She grumbles, pushing out the swinging door before Mack can comment. When people ask about her, the first thing she tells them is that she's a waitress. How sad is that?

As she walks toward Jemma's table, Daisy wonders what she tells people about herself. She squares her shoulders and knocks that thought from her mind; she doesn't need to know that about Jemma, not when they only see each other in the diner. Daisy is happy to remain firmly in safe territory.

Daisy sets the pie down in front of her. "Ta da. Today's special."

Jemma looks up at her dubiously. "This is a rather large piece."

Damn. Maybe Mack was right. "Yeah…sorry…" Daisy frowns. "I wasn't paying attention."

She hands over the roll of silverware right as she realizes that there's already a roll on the table. Of course. Her mind is clearly not on fully warmed up this early in the morning.

Jemma tries to hand the rolled up napkin back to her. "Well, then I guess you'll just have to help me eat it."

Daisy is already taking the silverware from her before she can really think about what Jemma has said. She looks around the diner. They're never busy this early and she's surprised to see May already looking at her from behind the counter, giving her a pointed look like she's daring her to resist Jemma's invitation.

Coulson probably won't mind if she takes a ten. If they get busy, she can always get back to work.

Daisy slides down across from Jemma, unrolling her silverware. "I'm not used to being on this side of things."

Jemma smiles at her, as sweet as the sugar that is resting on the top of the crust of the pie between them. "First time for everything."

Daisy lets Jemma have the first bite of pie, primarily so she can give all her attention to watching Jemma's reaction as she puts the bite into her mouth. Once again, she's treated with the flutter of eyes and the tip of her tongue poking out just a little between her lips. Again, it's the soft little moan escaping her throat that causes Daisy to smile in spite of herself.

Jemma opens her eyes and glares. "Don't look at me like that." She bumps Daisy's knee under the table with her own. "I can't help it."

"No judgment." Daisy assures her, picking up her own fork and taking a piece for herself. "Don't let me interrupt."

After all, she's used to these particular reactions. But somehow, on Jemma, they mean even more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After that, Daisy comes to count on seeing Jemma around the diner every morning. Her ten minute break eventually turned into half-an-hour and then forty-five minutes, moving closer to an hour before Coulson finally came looking for her and prodded her apologetically back to work. Jemma comes in early, often dishelved and tired, assuring Daisy that she can't stay for long because she has classes or needs to get back into the lab or is desperate for a few hours of shut-eye but usually ends up staying a while anyway, long enough for the sky to start to lighten and the regular people to start heading off to work. Daisy doesn't mind; it hardly seems like her place to prompt Jemma to leave when she seems content to hang around, sipping bad coffee and doodling on the back of their cheap paper menus.

Daisy even keeps one of them: a terrible stick drawing that Jemma did of the two of them amidst scientific mumbo-jumbo and strings of numbers. She has it folded in the pocket of her apron, tucked away from the prying eyes of Bobbi and Mack.

"She's certainly turned into a regular, hasn't she?" Bobbi remarks one morning after Jemma finally does take off, pulling on her coat and wrapping her scarf around her neck as she steps back into the real world. "I think she's here every morning."

Daisy shrugs, pretending like wiping the table is the most important thing that she's ever done. "So? Regulars are a good thing. They mean better tips."

Bobbi smirks; Daisy can hear it in her voice, even without looking at her. "Oh really. Is that what you're hoping to get out of her? A good tip?"

Daisy snaps the towel at her and Bobbi manages to step aside but not without getting droplets of water across her apron. "Shut up. You make it sound weird and dirty."

Bobbi holds up her hands. "Hey, no judgment from me."

"Stop." Daisy rolls her eyes, resetting the table with paper menus and rolled up silverware. "Her school is close by here; she's working on a big project. It means she has weird hours."

Bobbi starts to argue but Daisy beats her to the punch. "Plus she comes in for the pie."

Bobbi barks out a laugh, grabbing two half empty ketchup bottles and carrying them over to the counter. "Okay. Sure."

"What?" Daisy follows after her, leaning against the stool beside the one that Bobbi is currently perched on. "Why is that so hard to believe? Plenty of people do."

After all, they're constantly hearing that very phrase. Daisy can hardly count the customers that order coffee and just a slice of pie, leaving a clean plate behind them. It's one of the reason Coulson is always sure to feature the day's pie on the specials board and she knows that Bobbi and May and the other waitresses have plenty of tickets with just the word 'pie' scrawled across them.

Bobbi sighs, shaking her head. "Oh, sweet, innocent Daisy." She says and there's a teasing to her voice that is nearly over shadowed by a odd tone of sadness. "What are we going to do with you?"

Daisy doesn't bother to respond, heading toward the back. It's much safer back there, away from Bobbi and her ridiculous ideas. And there's where Daisy likes to be: firmly on the safe side of life.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Daisy pulls the excess tendrils of dough off the side of the pie pan, humming quietly to herself as she spins the dish to smooth down all the sides. She rolls the extra dough into a ball, setting it aside so that she can return her attention back to the pie itself. She presses her fingers against the curst, smoothing it out, making it even on all sides. The bottom and sides can't be too thin or too thick; it has to be just right.

As Daisy begins mixing in the ingredients, she starts thinking about Jemma. It's hard not to, honestly. Jemma's dissertation is finished but that hasn't stopped her from coming into the diner with regularity; it's been over a month since she first sat in Daisy's section. The booth has become her regular spot. Unspoken, of course.

Before Daisy's even realized it, the filling has been mixed together and is already evening itself out in the crust. She looks at it, brow furrowing with a touch of concern. Honestly, she can't remember everything she put into the pie but it looks edible and when she sticks her pinky into the batter to give it a taste, it's not horrible, so she's willing to give it a try.

Daisy's forgotten all about the pie by the time Bobbi has a piece of it, sitting at the counter with her long legs dangling down toward the dizzying black and white tiles. "Oh my god," Bobbi swallows, licking her lips, "Daisy what is this? I think this is the best pie you've ever made."

Daisy really wishes that she could answer that question but she's not really in the mood to tell Bobbi that she can't remember what she was mixing into the filling because she was too busy thinking about Jemma. It's pretty embarrassing, honestly.

"A chef never reveals her secrets." She says instead, hoping that stupid, coy answer will be enough to satisfy Bobbi and get her off the hook.

The pie is completely gone by the time Daisy's shift is over. As she leaves, Coulson calls out after her that she should be proud of herself and of her pie but, if Daisy is being perfectly honest, she'd have to admit that it's really Jemma's pie. The sweetness of the filling, the lightness of the curst, the way each bite seems to dance across the tongue, sweet and fleeting? It's like a kiss, the one she often finds herself wishing that she could have with Jemma.

Clearly she's crossed 'safe' territory and is quickly moving toward 'sorry' after all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A tapping on the door causes Daisy to pause, her coat half-shrugged off her shoulders. She turns back and is surprised to see Jemma standing there on the sidewalk, an apologetic smile on her face, her arms wrapped around herself in an effort to keep out the biting wind.

Daisy glances toward Coulson's office but then decides against it. He's already informed her several times –in a very disappointed, pitiful tone of voice- that he's got to spend the majority of the day with the books, making sure that everything is tidied and in order. She doesn't want to bother him…surely he wouldn't mind if she just…

"I'm so sorry." Jemma says quickly as she steps into the diner, teeth chattering. "I didn't realize…I don't know why I thought the diner was open twenty-four hours. I suppose I'm a little early."

"Just a little." Daisy teases her, locking the door again.

"Sorry." Jemma says again, glancing back toward the sidewalk. "I can always wait…and come back…"

Daisy shakes her head. "No, it's okay." She assures her. Even though she's not really sure that it is…Coulson seems like he'd be cool with it. She hopes. "I should be apologizing to you…this place is even more boring when we're still closed."

Jemma shrugs, sliding her hands into her pockets. "I'm fine, really. Don't let me stop you from doing what you have to do."

Daisy gestures for her to follow her back toward the kitchen. "I've got to get the pies started, if you don't mind keeping me company."

Jemma gives her a shy smile. "No. It's quite all right."

Daisy flips on the lights, going through the motions of gathering everything that she needs, setting the bowls and eggs and flour and other necessities on the counter. She can feel Jemma's eyes on her, watching her without comment as she moves across the kitchen. She's done this a thousand times before; she does this in her dreams and yet she suddenly seems like she's going to make some sort of terrible mistake, that she's going to mix everything together all wrong and come out with a disaster instead of a masterpiece. Maybe the weight of Jemma's eyes on her is more than enough to distract her from doing right the only thing she feels like she can actually be proud of.

"You should teach me." Jemma says as Daisy adds the last things to her pile of ingredients. "My mum tried to teach me before when I was younger. She said that it should be easy because I excelled a chemistry but…combining ingredients was far more difficult than chemical equations."

Daisy looks at her, pulling a face. "I don't know about that." She protests. "I mean, you're only days away from being Dr. Simmons and I'm just a waitress and _I_ can figure out how to bake a pie. You shouldn't have a problem."

Jemma gives her a look. "Don't say it like that, Daisy." She says softly. "Like you shouldn't be proud of what you do. And of the amazing pies that you can make. You could have your own shop, that's how delicious they are."

Daisy feels heat rise to her cheeks and she shakes her head mostly because she can't imagine agreeing with Jemma's words. "I don't know about that." She says with a shrug. "It's just something I like to do."

Jemma comes to join her by the counter. "All the better, then." She says decisively, like they've just settled some sort of argument that Daisy didn't even know they were having. She rolls up the sleeves on her checkered sweater and looks at her pointedly. "What's the first step?"

With a roll of her eyes, Daisy figures that she's better off just letting Jemma help her. "You can crack the eggs." She pushes the carton over to her and a large silver bowl. "We'll start with the crust."

Jemma does as she's been instructed, breaking the eggs with a sharp crack on the rim of the bowl and letting the insides slide down the sides. Daisy starts dipping her measuring cups into the bags on the counter, sending little white puffs into the air.

"It's really not that hard." She says absently, talking to Jemma with only one corner of her mind. The rest is already focused on the pies, ready to bring to life the things she saw in her dreams. "Just the basics. Sugar, butter, flour…"

As she explains, Daisy dumps the contents of the measuring cups into the bowl, mixing them in with Jemma's cracked eggs. She even lets Jemma do the mixing, which is her least favorite part; she's glad that Jemma still seems to subscribe to that belief that people who don't do a lot of baking hold: that mixing is fun rather than tedious and taxing.

Once they've rolled and pressed the crusts into the pans, Daisy starts on the fillings. There are no measuring cups here, no specific plans or expectations. Just whatever seems like it's ready to mix together in the crust.

As she pours the first mixture into the crust, Jemma dips her finger in, popping it into her mouth before Daisy can admonish her. It's banana and chocolate and Daisy plans on chopping up almonds, making them into thin, fine slivers to add to the top. She gapes at Jemma, surprised.

Jemma grins at her impish, the kid with her hand in the cookie jar. She licks her finger clean and Daisy pretends not to notice. "This is delicious." Jemma assures her, her cheeks rosy from the growing heat of the ovens and the mischievousness that seems to be driving her actions. "You really are amazing."

Daisy blushes and ducks her head. "I don't know…" Of course, she's too busy protesting Jemma's words that she doesn't notice that she's dipping another finger into the batter until it's already to her lips. "Hey! You have to leave some for the paying costumers." She jokes.

"I can't help it." Jemma says with faux innocence. "How is someone supposed to be expected to ignore something that delicious?"

"I do it all the time." Daisy wrinkles her nose at Jemma. "I never taste it before it's done."

Jemma shrugs. "That's too bad. It really is delicious."

There's just the barest hint of chocolate on her lip, the only indication that she's been pilfering batter and Daisy leans forward, kissing it softly off her lips. Jemma's mouth tastes like the batter in the bowl, the ingredients that Daisy saw in her mind. The kiss is a lingering one and Daisy closes her eyes, tasting the richness of the chocolate and the sweetness of Jemma's lips. She can taste the sigh that passes from Jemma's mouth and into her own and the tell-tale dryness of flour and butter that means that Jemma was sneaking dough when she wasn't looking.

"You're right," Daisy says hoarsely when she finally pulls her lips away from Jemma's, "it is pretty good."

Jemma puts a hand around the curve of her neck. "The second taste is even better." She whispers against her lips before they close the distance again.

It is. But Daisy thinks she would agree to anything as long as Jemma was the one saying it.

For the first time, the crusts on the counter go unfilled, unnoticed, waiting patiently for Daisy's attention to return to them. Honestly, they might be waiting around for a while; anything would be hard pressed to compete with Jemma.

Except, of course, Coulson. Who calls her name as he emerges from his office, stepping into the kitchen. "Daisy, have you seen the-" He stops abruptly when he sees that Daisy isn't alone. And when he realizes what he's just interrupted. "Oh. Sorry."

Daisy and Jemma move away from each other and Daisy clears her throat, smoothing down the front of her shirt.

Coulson's brow suddenly furrows and he looks at her. "Wait. Why am I sorry? You're the one who has some explaining to do."

Daisy clears her throat again, giving Coulson an apologetic smile. "Would you believe that she's the new taste-tester?"

"No." Coulson gives her a look. "Try again."

He manages to forgive their transgressions when Jemma offers to get a pot of coffee started so that he doesn't have to wait for Trip to show up to provide them with the desperately needed caffeine. Jemma stays a respectable distance away from Daisy, sipping her coffee as she watches Daisy speedily finish the pies to get them in the oven before the diner officially opens.

But later, when Daisy kisses her again, the taste of coffee still lingers with the taste of chocolate and that sweetness that is all Jemma. It makes her mind sing and her fingers itch for the dough and the rolling pin, to see what she can create with Jemma still lingering on her tongue. She manages to resist the urge in favor of the Jemma in her arms.

That night, she dreams in ingredients and Jemma, her subconscious bright and alive and she smiles in her sleep, rolling over and pressing her face into the crook of Jemma's neck. She's in no hurry to get into the kitchen but at least she'll have no shortage of inspiration when she finally ties her apron on.


End file.
